As a matter-of-fact, a 42-year old woman CAN throw a temper tantrum that rivals a 3-year-old's!

Yesterday, I had yet another one of my less-than-shining moments as a mother. I know, I know, it's hard to believe that one Mom can have so many screw-ups, but cut me some slack. I'm in my 4th week of being in a non-weight-bearing cast, with a minimum of 4 more weeks to go before I can transition to "the boot" and begin months of physical therapy. I haven't had a good night's sleep since surgery (Have you TRIED to sleep with your foot in a cast?), my armpits are sore from the crutches, my knee is swollen from the knee scooter, and I can't drive, because of the cast, so I'm trapped at home all summer with two little boys who give new meaning to the words "energetic" and "busy" and are driving me crazy, saying things like:

"Mommy? Why can't we go to the park? Come on! We want to go to the park. Pleeeeeaaaassseeee?????" (Me too, kids. Then, you could entertain yourselves on the play equipment while I semi-doze on the park bench instead of trying to find ways to occupy your time at home. All day. Every day. With only one working leg.)

"Mommy...Play soccer with us! Can't you take off your cast and play with us? Daddy plays soccer with us!" (Yep. Daddy is the king of the world. The "cool" parent. The two-legged parent. Trouble is, he's hardly ever here. So, deal with it. I have to.)

"Moooommmmmmmmyyyyyyyy.....I want to go somewhere! I don't want to ride bikes in the cul-de-sac anymore. How come you never take us anywhere???" (YOU want to go somewhere? Try being trapped in the house, in a cast, taking care of two little boys. Believe me, I know about wanting to go SOMEWHERE. Anywhere. Anywhere but here...)

"Mommy! We want some yogurt. Can we go to the store and get some yogurt? You can take us to Playland. Please? Pleeeeeaaaassseee?" (You need yogurt. I need an over-priced latte and 5 minutes to myself. We're both out of luck.)

"I wish Daddy was home from work. He takes us places! Daddy's fun like you used to be." (Ouch!)

Soooo...this brings me to yesterday's temper tantrum. Even though I usually manage to view life with an optimistic eye, I admit to the occasional "meltdown". However, this typically involves me dissolving into tears in the shower, where nobody can see or hear Mommy losing it and freak out.

Yesterday was another story. Yesterday was a full-on, crying, yelling, and, yes, even throwing-of-an-object temper tantrum. In the kitchen. Right in front of my boys. Sigh. Again, here I am earning the Mother-of-the-Year Award...Anyhoo, after cleaning a filthy bathroom on my knees, (a task which has been completely ignored by hubby -- the aforementioned soccer hero -- until it has become absolutely necessary), emptying the dishwasher (usually an easy task, but much harder when you can't just walk around the kitchen, putting dishes where they go), cooking spaghetti for my little guys (because they've been eating peanut butter and jelly night and day for the last week), and taking an overflowing bag of trash out back to the trash can (a journey which now involves my knee scooter, a wheelchair ramp, steering around two lazy dogs, fighting with a back gate, twisting my body around into a position never-before-seen by any yoga teacher to get the bag into the trashcan, and then turning around to make the trip back). Again, these are tasks that I used to be able to complete in no time at all, with very little effort. Now, those same "easy" tasks take me 5 times longer and usually end up with me sweating and exhausted, with my ankle throbbing and my toes swollen into unrecognizable sausages! So, I had completed all the stuff that had to be done, put the kids' plates down in front of them, and was starting on the task of cleaning up from the spaghetti prep., when I heard this:

"Spaghetti? I HATE spaghetti!" (Since when???)

"Me too. I hate spaghetti. I want peanut butter and jelly!" (!!!)

That was it. With sweat pouring down my face, my foot screaming at me "ELEVATE ME! ELEVATE ME!", and a half-washed pot in my hands, I glared at the little boys I love more than life itself, threw the pot into the sink, where it made a satisfyingly eardrum-shattering CRASH!!!, yelled at the top of my lungs, "MAYBE YOU COULD TRY SAYING 'THANKS FOR TAKING CARE OF US, MOMMY!' INSTEAD OF COMPLAINING ABOUT YOUR LUNCH!", sank off of the knee scooter onto the floor, and burst into loud, ugly, snot-running-down-the-face sobbing. Lovely parenting there, Beth. I'm so proud.

Anyway, after about ten minutes of Mommy crying and freaking out, the situation was resolved by lots of hugs and kisses, the kids getting to watch a movie while I took a nap, an early-afternoon glass of wine (hey, it was 5 o'clock somewhere in the world), and sidewalk chalk and bike-riding in the cul-de-sac until dinner time.

And, yes, we had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner.

Cheers!